And the Yeah, Welcome to Part 3 and our final chapter of the Shadow Over Insmith by H.P. Lovecraft. Despite what I had heard of this hotel in Newburyport, I signed the register, paid my dollar, let the clerk take my valise, followed that sour solitary attendant of three creaking

flights of stairs past dusty corridors which seemed wholly devoid of life.

My room, a dismal rear one with two windows and bare cheap furnishings, overlooked a dingy courtyard otherwise hemmed in by low deserted brick

blocks and commanded a view of decrepate

westward stretching roofs with a marshy countryside beyond. At the end of the

corridor was a bathroom, a discouraging relic with ancient marble bowl, tin tub, faint

electric light, and musty wooden paneling around all the plumbing fixtures.

It being still daylight, I descended to the square and looked around for a dinner of some sort, noticing

as I did so the strange glances I received from the unwholesome loafers.

Since the grocery was closed, I was forced to patronize the restaurant I had shunned

before.

A stooped, narrow-headed man with staring, unwinking eyes eyes and a flat-nosed wench with unbelievably thick,

clumsy hands being in attendance.

The service was of the counter type, and it relieved me to find that much was evidently served from cans and packages.

A bowl of vegetable soup with crackers was enough for me and I soon headed back from my cheerless room at the Gilman getting an evening

paper and a fly-spect magazine from the evil visage clerk at the rickety stand beside

his desk. As twilight deepened I turned on the one feeble electric bulb

over the cheap iron-framed bed and tried as best I could to continue the reading I

had begun. I felt it advisable to keep my mind

wholesomely occupied for it would not do to brood over the abnormalities of this

ancient blight-shadowed town while I was still within its borders. The insane yarn I had heard

from the age of drunkard did not promise very pleasant dreams and I felt I must

...